Page 25 of Black Roses

I laugh as much as one can after running almost twenty-six miles. “About time? I’m gonna win the bet, you know.” My lungs burn trying to keep up with my words and still take in the oxygen I require.

“Game on,Dix.” She breaks away, pulling ahead of me.

“Oh, I don’t think so,Princess.” I muster all of my energy and sprint past her, putting a sizeable gap between us before I settle back into my marathon pace, hoping I don’t pass out from the exertion of trying to impress her.

Every fifty or so strides, I peek over my shoulder to make sure she’s not gaining on me. So far, she’s not closing the gap too much. But I wonder if I’ve just cut off my own legs, deploying my last energy reserves too soon which would allow her to make a fool of me, sprinting ahead of me at the finish line.

I concentrate on my breathing, reminding myself there is just one more mile to go. One mile to get my name in the history books for something other than football. One mile to secure a date with the only woman I’d ever run a marathon for.

One. More. Mile.

I turn again to exact Piper’s position, but she’s not there. I look over my other shoulder to see if she’s passing on that side, but she’s not there either. I slow my pace so I can turn my body around more efficiently. That’s when I see her. And after more than twenty-five grueling miles, I stop running. One mile from victory, I concede the race to thousands of others who will cross the line before me.

I stop, because a hundred yards back, Piper is sitting on the ground, blood staining her lower legs as race officials hurry to her side. I sprint towards her, ignoring my screaming muscles and oxygen-deprived lungs. My instinct to protect this girl overtakes my physiological need to breathe. When I stop in front of her, I eye the cuts on her knees and the gravel-scraped abrasions on her hands. I gasp at the blood trickling down to discolor her white running shoes.

But when I find her eyes, I’m surprised to see she’s not worried about her injuries. Her eyes are darting around at the crowd, scanning it frantically as her body begins to shake. I’ve seen this look before. She’s having a panic attack. It’s the same look she had the other night. I search my brain to find a way to help her.

“Are you okay, Miss?” I hear from paramedics and bystanders hoarding around her to help.

She panics even more at the onslaught of people surrounding her.

I hold my hands out to my side, attempting to clear people away from her. “Please, back away. She’s claustrophobic.” I grab a bottle of water someone is holding out and retrieve a roll of gauze from the paramedics I pushed aside. They attempt to reach her, but I block them. “I said back off if you want to help.”

“Piper.” I get down on my knees, gravel grinding into them as I talk softly to her. “Piper, it’s okay. I’ll help you.” I assess her injuries while pouring water over her cuts to clean them. It doesn’t look that bad, a couple of scrapes that have all but stopped bleeding. She continues her distraught survey of the crowd and I follow her gaze to try and figure out what she’s so afraid of. Is he out there? Charlie’s dad? Or worse—some asshole who hurt her?

I need to get her out of here. Away from these people. And I quickly realize what I need to do to snap her out of it is get her back up and running. If I’ve learned anything about Piper this past month, it’s that she runs to shut things out. To clear her mind. To escape from her demons.

I have to work hard to keep the bystanders at a distance, warning the paramedics with my eyes and even lying to them about having EMT training. They finally believe me and retreat even further. Apparently they don’t watch much football, a circumstance I wouldn’t have been grateful for until this very second.

Something on the pavement next to her reflects the sun’s harsh rays, catching my eye. I reach out and pick up Piper’s leather bracelet, running my finger over the intricate curves of the black rose. I quickly shove it into the tiny zippered pocket of my running shorts, grateful I even saw it. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s important to her. It may even be her most prized possession, something that occurred to me the other night when she wore it to the benefit. I momentarily wonder if it has ever been removed from her wrist before this very second. Visions of Piper naked, wearing only the leather bracelet, hinder my quest to help her through this. I berate my wayward thoughts, trying to focus solely on the task at hand—fixing this beautiful, broken girl.

“Piper, look at me.” I cup her face with my hands and force her to make eye contact. “It’s me. It’s just you and me, sweetheart. We can do this. We only have one mile to go and we’ll go down in the books. You’ve worked so hard for this. Come on. You can do this.”

I get to my feet, making sure her eyes stay on mine, putting myself between her and the crowd. I hold out my hands to her, offering them to help her up. “Look at me,” I tell her. “Only me.”

She blows out a long, deep breath and then puts her hands in mine, allowing me to help her up. She winces, but I know it’s not necessarily from her scrapes. I’m in pain, too. Our muscles have begun to stiffen and I wonder if we are even capable of finishing the race after stopping for a few minutes.

“One more mile, Piper. Piece of cake.” She lets me take her elbow so I can make sure she’s steady on her feet. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

She studies me, warring with herself over the decision she’s about to make. She nods her head. “Okay.” It’s the first word I’ve heard her say since she fell. And I know right now, that no matter how long it takes for us to finish, it will be a victory.

I let her set the pace. She walks faster than I expected and I hear the cheers from the crowd, applauding her for continuing the race. Not two minutes later, she’s increased our speed to a steady jog. When we come around a corner and spy the finish line off in the distance, I hear Piper gasp. I look over worried that she’s panicking again, but instead, I have the pleasure of witnessing a slow, triumphant smile creep up her face. It’s not something I thought I’d see today—if ever again.

“What is it?” I ask.

She points to the race clock that shows the time for the third wave. “Trick was right,” she says, her smile not faltering. “She did it. She shaved ten minutes off my time, even with my fall.”

Then she turns to face me, still keeping our pace while saying something truly amazing. “Thank you, Mason.”

I almost trip over my exhausted feet, absorbing the words of gratitude I never thought would cross her lips. I shake my head. “You’re welcome, Princess. And you’re wrong, it wasn’t Trick, it’s you.Youdid it.”

I see tears well up in her eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of gratitude. Tears of happiness. But she never lets them fall. She holds her chin high, nodding at me before she turns back to watch our approach of the finish line. I make a split second decision.

She doesn’t even notice when I fall back and let her cross first.

chapter eleven

piper

---